The Tyrant's Terminally-Ill Childhood Friend (Completed Main Story) - Chapter 8

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“I was clearly told she was in critical condition.”

Ironically, that was the very thought that crossed Peter’s mind the moment he saw Anette. The instant he opened the door, he had to admit it: he’d been played exactly as Anette had intended.

She sat upright on the bed, astonishingly well. Her innocent smile, as if she’d been waiting just for him, stirred a flicker of murderous intent. The maid who’d come to fetch him wouldn’t have dared deceive him unless her life depended on it—so however she’d done it, Anette had fooled the entire palace.

And she’d done it by exploiting Peter’s memories of Lowell.

Yet, damnably, Anette was breathtakingly beautiful. Because it was late afternoon, the sun hung at just the right angle, spilling golden twilight through her black hair. Perhaps this was how the night sky looked when it bewitched a shepherd.

Her black eyes, glinting blue in the light, and her raven hair as dark as a new moon rendered Anette’s presence even more vivid. If there existed someone whose mere existence could steal one’s breath away, it was surely Anette at this very moment.

The peculiar stillness unique to those who have always walked the tightrope between life and death.

Peter knew one such person all too well.

“Don’t you have a letter?”

Lowell.

That realization twisted Peter’s insides. A sneer escaped his distorted face.

“So this is why you called me all the way here… just this?”

“‘Just this’? Peter, I nearly died.”

“Anette Martinek. Don’t test my patience.”

A warning hissed through clenched teeth. Yet, as if utterly oblivious to the emperor before her, Lowell rose from her seat and spoke her piece regardless.

“It’s true. Look, I can barely stand now. Just a short bath left me like this… Ah!”

At that moment, Lowell’s legs buckled, and her body lurched sideways.

But she never hit the floor—the emperor’s grip caught her in time.

The emperor seemed to realize only a beat later that he’d caught her at all. Only when he saw Lowell’s face so close in his arms did his brow furrow.

“…What exactly are you trying to do?”

“What? Don’t you like this?”

“If you don’t want to die, drop that damn tone of yours…”

“But Your Majesty said I was your Lowell.”

In an instant, her childish lilt vanished, replaced by Lowell’s usual voice. Somehow, her earlier innocence had completely disappeared. Only a woman as sharp and silent as a broken blade or a reed in winter remained, held fast in Peter’s grasp.

Her emotionless black eyes locked onto Peter’s.

“I’ve done as you wished. If you don’t want it, I’ll remain Anette.”

She was utterly unreadable. Exasperated, Peter let out a hollow laugh and released her. Lowell staggered back and sat down on the bed. As if her earlier liveliness had been a lie, she now existed in utter stillness. Everything about her was bewildering—yet one thing had become perfectly clear.

“Anette Martinek.”

Peter’s hand reached for Lowell’s shoulder. Instead of pressing her rounded shoulder, his index finger hooked the thin strap of her slip resting along her collarbone. The strap crumbled instantly, falling like a dry leaf to the floor.

It was Peter’s magic—the very power that had enabled him to kill his father and the fundamental reason he was called a tyrant. Among the von der Leyen imperial family, famed for their destructive magic, his power was considered uniquely exceptional.

“If you don’t wish to die, tell me—who told you about Lowell?”

“…You lack imagination.”

Lowell glanced briefly at the fabric now slipping past her shoulders to her chest, then lifted her gaze back to Peter. She’d heard of the emperor’s formidable power, but this was her first time experiencing it firsthand.

‘This is… more dangerous than a knife at my throat.’

Years of experience allowed her to remain outwardly unmoved—but she couldn’t suppress the faint shiver crawling up her spine.

Had Peter’s finger been just a hair closer to her neck, her life would’ve been in grave peril. The reason was simple: Peter’s power wasn’t merely about destruction.

His magic consumed existence itself. That was why the strap on Lowell’s shoulder had vanished without a trace moments ago. Had that magic targeted her throat instead, it wouldn’t have been a mere strap disappearing—it would’ve been her carotid artery.

Despite clearly recognizing the danger, Lowell remained unnervingly calm. Peter raised one eyebrow slightly.

“Do my words seem trivial to you? I know you know about Lowell. Since there’s no way you could know about her on your own, you must be acting on someone’s orders. Speak, and I’ll spare your life.”

“Are you curious because you wish to find Lowell Hessen?”

“Answer me.”

“Do you truly believe she’s still alive?”

“I believe I clearly told you not to test my patience.”

Peter growled lowly as a warning and reached out to press his hand against Lowell’s bare shoulder. Where his fingertips touched, her skin reddened as if burned. Though the pain must have been considerable, Lowell’s expression didn’t flicker.

“Will you kill me and expect an answer from my grave?”

Her calm defiance only deepened the furrow in Peter’s brow.

“No one else knows about Lowell Hessen except me. If you kill me, there’ll be no one left to answer your questions about her—I guarantee it.”

So please answer me. She whispered softly, taking Peter’s hand that rested on her shoulder.

“Your Majesty… do you truly wish to find Lowell?”

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To cut to the chase, Lowell never got her answer.

She only realized one thing.

‘Peter…’

You really do want to kill me.

This wasn’t merely a threat—he’d genuinely meant it.

The more Lowell provoked him, the stronger his murderous intent grew. Even to Lowell, who’d spent over a decade in Operta, that raw, searing intent felt threatening.

“Anette Martinek. I spared you not because you made a convincing doll.”

The man who wanted her dead bared his thick killing intent fully, grinding out words as if chewing on them instead of Lowell.

“There were fakes before you. Do you think you’re the first to toy with my memories?”

Fury and contempt dripped from Peter’s voice, his tone, his every gesture. His expression screamed a desire to crush Lowell’s windpipe right then and there—the very look one might give a shameless impostor pretending to be the person they loved in order to deceive them. Perhaps, in a way, it mirrored Lowell’s own feelings.

But…

‘…This isn’t it.’

To Lowell, it felt utterly insufficient. No—it was fundamentally wrong.

She could tell Peter’s rage wasn’t simply because she’d impersonated Lowell to deceive him. Then what exactly had provoked such fury in him? What about me triggers you so deeply, Peter?

“I spared you not because you resemble Lowell. It’s only because I hope you’ll be the last counterfeit.”

“…”

“You seem to think I still haven’t forgotten her.”

In that instant, beneath his twisted expression, something flickered deep within his pale blue eyes.

“I can live without Lowell.”

Ah—the moment she heard those words, Lowell nearly burst into laughter despite herself.

“It’s not as if I can’t endure the disgust of having you pretend to be Lowell.”

Peter…

“So live quietly in this palace, as if you barely exist.”

“…You say you can live even without me.”

At Lowell’s words, Peter’s brow, which had just barely smoothed, twitched again.

“Get your words straight. It’s not you—it’s Lowell.”

Ah.

“But am I not Your Majesty’s Lowell?”

“Different.”

“But, Your Majesty…”

Lowell lifted her head. On her pale face, only her obsidian-black eyes gleamed.

It was a strangely mesmerizing beauty—enough to utterly bewitch a person. Before Peter could even question it, Lowell spoke from mere inches away.

“Your heart is racing.”

Her voice was dry, as if merely reciting lines fed to her by someone else.

Peter’s carefully feigned composure crumpled instantly. The contempt on his face was so common it might as well have been trampled underfoot on the street.

His glaring killing intent tightened around her throat—but inwardly, Lowell laughed. No, she was positively beaming inside. She simply couldn’t contain her amusement.

The reason was simple: she’d just glimpsed Peter’s deepest truth.

‘Peter…’

You desire me.

“Don’t pull such cheap tricks.”

Even while believing I’m not Lowell, you still want me. That truth torments you so deeply it’s why you’re so desperate to kill me.

Peter’s killing intent stemmed from self-loathing.

It was a scorching revelation—no, a revelation that burned like fire. The realization blazed so fiercely that instead of screaming, Lowell burst into silent laughter.

“If you pull a stunt like this again, I’ll send your head back to Martinek.”

Then Lowell’s course was clear: as Anette, not as Lowell, she would tame him.

So that whether she was Lowell or Anette, Peter would never be able to kill her.

“There will be no second chance.”

Peter’s hand fell away, and he turned to leave the room. The only proof he’d ever been there was the wound left on Lowell’s shoulder. Clutching her reddened shoulder, she let out a hollow laugh.

No second chance, you say?

But Peter, you’ve already spared me twice.

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